Page 6 of The Mafia's Captive

She jolts up when I open the door. Her eyes are bloodshot as if she had been sleeping. The little fucker. Here I am, thinking she’s clawing at the walls, but she was sleeping. I march over to her and she looks up at me like a student, unaware of why she’s at the principal’s office.

“Have you thought about it?”

She sighs. “I didn’t steal your money.”

“Fine. Sal—”

There’s something within her that clicks when I say so. She straightens her spine, shifts in her seat, and leans forward. “Let’s leave this to the police. Call the police and I’ll call my lawyer. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“I don’t know. There’s a lot more you’ve done wrong.” She frowns at that statement, but I continue talking. “Plus, I don’t just let people go.”

“Call the police. Let the law deal with me.”

“Oh, we’re not doing that.”

“I could call the police.” Her threat is so funny, I almost laugh. Half the people in the city’s law enforcement work for me, and that includes the police chief and a few prosecutors.

“You don’t want to do that.” She withdrew, clearly getting the implied meaning of those words. “There are only two ways you’re getting out of here. Confession or coercion. Personally, confession is less bloody, so I prefer that, but if you want coercion…”

I let it hang in the air and I can tell the words are taking effect as her bravado slips and the slight tremble in her left hand returns. I might have to off her. Which is a pity. I like her.

“What do —” My phone rings. I fish it out of my pocket. It’s Gio.

“What up bro?” his voice booms from the phone. I hear odd moaning noises in the background. Then a sigh and a plop. Is he getting his dick sucked? He might be my brother, but he’s one of the biggest manwhore I’ve ever encountered.

“Hi.”

“I heard you have a girl with you. One of Saccone’s people.”

“Yes?” I glance back at Sal. Why is he going around yapping about this?

“Don’t get mad at him,” Gio says as if he read my mind, “I asked Sal. Thing is, we need her. You might have landed on a gold mine if my information is correct.” I turn back to Corina.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

As Gio tells me, my outlook on her changes. Corina might be the biggest asset I’ve just stumbled on and if Gio is to be trusted, she has no clue how important she is. “Thank you for telling me.” I cut the call and focus my attention on her.

“You’re one of the luckiest people I’ve ever met, Corina.”

“Really? Am I?”

I go over around the table and grab her arm. She’s so shocked she complies, standing to her feet. “You’re coming with me.”

3

His place is like what I would imagine a modern-day Dracula would live in. Big, dark, and intimidating. But also modern, and sophisticated. Everything is mostly black or gray with a touch of white. Black marble floors, black furniture, gray curtains, white vase. No wonder the few people at work who’ve ever been here call it the lair. The penthouse is off limits to everyone except a few trusted employees, and I was going to be one of those few. If only it was under better terms than the horror movie I am in now.

He strides in front of me, while behind me are two of his hulking bodyguards. He leads us to a spacious living room with wall-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline. Black sofas, of course, and the black and white art pieces hanging on the walls. Talk about a drama queen.

He stops in the middle of the room, takes off his jacket, and throws it on a sofa. My brain registers the way his back muscles ripple beneath his white shirt as he does so. To think that only a few hours ago I was attracted to him. Now. Well, I’m still attracted, but what’s left is purely physical. A body’s reaction to a handsome specimen.

He takes out his phone and starts scrolling, typing, getting comfortable in his own home as if he’s forgotten about me. His bodyguards, too, have dispersed and are casing the room? Scanning the room? They move from corner to corner, lifting ornaments and looking underneath them as if they’re inspecting. They move from the living room to other rooms and I stand there stupefied, not sure what else to do. Is this a good thing or a bad thing? I can’t tell. A few minutes later, they both come back and announce, “It’s clean,” and leave the room. Bugs? Were they looking to see if the place is bugged? Dante must be paranoid. But then, if you’re in the business he’s in, paranoia is necessary. Too bad I am currently caught up in his latest bout of fear.

When he accused me of stealing, I thought it was a joke at first. It had to be. Otherwise, why would one of his goons find the money in my bedroom? But when he left me. The longer I sat there on my own, the more I had to consider a possibility. Maybe someone is framing me? That’s the only explanation. But who would do that and why? It makes no sense, and I thought I got on well with everyone at work. I keep to myself. I work diligently and never engage the clients. No one comes to mind as I rack my brain. And the longer I sat in that room, the more I realized there was no way out. I was sure he was going to kill me. Even when he brought me here, I thought he was sending me to my death. But he wouldn’t kill me in his apartment, would he? He seems like the type who would hate to see blood taint his vase. Speaking of which, “Why am I here?”

He glances up from his phone, flicks it back into his pocket and stalks towards me. Large and intimidating. I square my shoulders to show him he isn’t getting to me. He stands inches away from me and says, “Do you prefer to be somewhere else? The desert perhaps?”

“The Mafia’s favorite backyard. Is that where all the bodies of people you falsely accuse are?”

---